


Just Ducky

by spikesgirl58



Category: NCIS, The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 14:52:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not what you think.  Take a little boy and a glass duck and add a little faith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Ducky

I was born white hot in the forge of a great oven.  I flowed like lava and glowed with an inner heat.  Yet, somewhere between graceful swan and whimsical duck, I lost my way for I was neither.  For some reason, instead of melting me down to try again, I was saved, polished, and placed on the ‘seconds’ shelf.

For a long time I sat there, enduring the sneers of passing customers and hurtful jabs of my fellow seconds.  Then one day the atmosphere of the store somehow changed.  The music, canned and tinny, grew bright and cheerful.  It spoke of a liberator who would take us from our shelves and present us to everyone as cherished keepsakes.

My liberator came in the form of a young child.

“Dis one, Auntie Amy.”  His eyes were round and the color of melted chocolate. His hair, the same color as his eyes, peeked out from beneath a wool cap.   He had a slightly runny nose and his cheeks were red. And his expression was pure joy.

“Oh, Napoleon, I am not sure.”  I was lifted up and gazed upon by a lovely woman.  She had kind eyes.  “It’s a little different, but I will admit that it does have a charm to it.”   She tipped me over to look at my price tag.  In my tiny glass heart, I prayed as I’d never prayed before.

“Dis one!”  The young boy reached for me and suddenly I was being hugged tight against a thin chest.  “Mamma will love it.”

“All right, if you are certain.  Let’s go pay for it.”

“Do I have enough?”  There was concern and I felt the boy’s grip loosen.  I tried to keep from panicking.   I was hand-blown glass, after all.  Even as a second, I knew I was costly.  But neither of us had to fear.  Auntie Amy came to both our rescues.

“You have enough and some leftover.”  Napoleon proudly carried me to the counter where I was wrapped in white paper and tucked into a bag.  All the way home, Napoleon held me close.  

And thus I became part of the Solo household.  Auntie Amy helped Napoleon carefully wrap me.  I would later find out that I was the very first gift he’d ever picked out for his mother.  I wore that label proudly.  Every so often, Napoleon would pause and stroke my glass head and my heart would feel as if it would explode from happiness.  The kindness in his eyes never dimmed.

For years I stood on the mantle over the fireplace and life moved around me.  I watched Napoleon grow from a child to a young man.  I saw him move from toys to young ladies.  Many a night he and a girl would sit on the couch in front of the fire and hug and kiss the way I’d seen Napoleon’s parents do.

One day there was a change in Napoleon.  He seemed more settled, more serious, as was the young woman who sat with him, well, they did kiss and hug, but they also talked.  At times it was very serious, at other times, they would be so excited and happy.   He called her Sweetheart.

I still remember the evening Napoleon proposed to Sweetheart.  There was an excited yes shouted for the world to hear and there was much happiness and celebration.  Papa made a toast to the happy couple, wishing them a lifetime of joy and contentment.  I didn’t know that it would mean Napoleon leaving me, but I couldn’t hold that against him.  Even an ugly duck’s best friend had to leave the nest eventually.

There was a charge to the air, building gradually.  Suddenly there was great excitement, almost like the day I was saved, but there was something different.  The landscape which I could see from my perch was not white and cold looking.  It was bright green and spoke of new life and renewed dreams.  The room was alive with white bunting and decorations and flowers were everywhere.

My Napoleon was so happy.  He laughed and danced around the room, once even with me.  Mamma warned him to be careful of me, but I wouldn’t have cared.  That was worth a chipped beak!

The day was lovely and a gentle breeze blew past the chintz curtains.  All of the mantle residents could feel it.

“Fine time they will make of it.  I hope someone remembers to wind me.” Mantle Clock always worried about someone forgetting to wind him up.  

“I think they make a lovely couple,” Monique, one of the music box figures whispered.  She had the heart of a romantic, while her mate constantly looked away, staring at the Dutch Maiden, her shoulders forever burdened by a yoke and two pails.  Star crossed lovers, those two, but I kept it to myself.  It didn’t behoove one to gossip.

“What do you think, Ducky?”  Little Bear, his arms wrapped around two large fish, one a salt shaker and the other a pepper shaker, asked me.  

“I think she is very lucky to have Napoleon.”  I sighed.  “But I will miss him.”

Napoleon appeared then, looking very dapper in his suit.  He checked his hair in the mirror and his gaze fell upon me.  He smiled and lifted me up to hold me beside him in the mirror.  “There we are, Ducky, the perfect couple.”  My heart soared.

                                                                                ****

Time is measured differently when you are glass.  Days and nights, weeks and months meant nothing to me, not really, for I never aged.  I didn’t grow hungry for food or thirsty for drink.  Instead I measured time by Napoleon’s visits.  Even Mamma remarked how I seemed to shine a bit brighter on days when Napoleon and his new wife came to visit.

“What do you think we should give the happy couple for Christmas?” Papa asked one night.  Thanksgiving was just a few days past, but he was always one to think ahead.

Mamma walked up to the mantle and I felt myself flying through the air and being carried to the couch.  “I was thinking of giving him Ducky.  He has always loved this odd little duck.”  She smiled and burnished my head with a gentle thumb.  “Do you remember when he gave this to me?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look of pride and happiness on his face as he watched you unwrap that present.”  Papa kissed Mamma.  “Just like on his wedding day.  Although… I am sensing some cracks in the veneer.”

“She wants children.” Mamma’s voice was soft, as if she was afraid to say it out loud.

“So does Napoleon, but he wants to get established.  He wants to be able to provide for a family before having one.  He’s just being responsible.”

Then the phone rang and Papa answered.  He gasped and gestured to Mamma while asking, “Is Napoleon all right?”   The world grew a little colder at those words.  I was hastily dropped on the couch and laid there, head down between the cushions, for what seemed an eternity.  From this position, I could see and hear nothing.

“What am I sitting on?”  I didn’t recognize the speaker, but I was thrilled to be finally freed of my prison.  “What the hell is this?”  The man made to toss me away, but Napoleon’s voice made him freeze.

“Put that down!”

“What?  This?”

“Put it down gently and get the hell out of here!”  I’d never heard that much anger in Napoleon’s voice.  Then I saw him, his skin nearly as white as the bandages that covered so much of him.  Only his eyes seemed alive and that was with anger.

“Gosh, I only ---“

“Get the hell out!”  Napoleon practically screamed the last bit and his parents came in then to calm him.  He snatched me away from the stranger’s hands and he held me, pressing me against his chest until I was sure he’d have bruises.

“Napoleon…”

“Leave me.” Napoleon’s eyes were closed and his face was thin, so very thin.  It wasn’t until many months later that I’d learned he’d buried his wife that day.

He took me to bed that night – a first for me.  He thrashed and murmured nonsense things, “I’m sorry.”  “It was a mistake” and “It didn’t mean anything” peppered his dreams.  Once I was aware of being wet and I thought it was raining inside the house, but it was Napoleon’s tears bathing me.  It was the first time that happened, but it wouldn’t be the last.

They say time heals all wounds, but I wasn’t sure.  Napoleon seemed to be unhappy for a long time.  A few months after Sweetheart died, he joined the military and I saw him even less than before.  He would come home on leave, they called it.  Then he stopped coming home at all.  He would send letters and Mamma would read them as she and Papa sat on the couch together.  They missed him, but not as much as I did.

                                                                *****   

As I said before, time meant very little to us.  The years flew by and very infrequently did they bring my Napoleon home.

One morning, Mamma ran into the living room, waving a letter.  “Papa, Papa, Napoleon is coming home for Christmas and he’s bringing someone.”

I found myself wondering who could have replaced Sweetheart in Napoleon’s life, for he had loved her so.  I watched the room turned into a Christmas paradise.  The tree was fragrant and perfect.  It took Mamma two days to get the lights just right.  She decorated it with such care and love.

Napoleon arrived late in the evening.  I was very nearly asleep when the lights of the tree were flooded out by the overhead lights and I heard Napoleon’s voice. I was amazed at the change in him.  He’d left a shaken and sorrowful boy and come back a sophisticated and polished man.

“Look at this place!”  Napoleon laughed and spun around.  “It’s better than the North Pole.”

“It’s much warmer, but I do not recall all of this.”  The speaker was a man, blond and slender.  He seemed amazed by what he was seeing, but determined not to let it show.  I saw.  I saw how Napoleon appeared happier than he’d ever been, even with Sweetheart.  “It is quite lovely and it is extraordinary that your mother would go to all this trouble.”

“Illya, let me show you something.”  Napoleon came over to the mantle and smiled lovingly at me.  He brushed a thin coat of dust from my head and lifted me up.  “Ta da!”

“What on earth is that?”

“This, my dear Mr. Kuryakin, is Ducky.  Ducky, meet Illya.”

“But what is it, Napoleon?”

“It’s a duck… I think.  This is the very first gift I ever gave my mother.”

“Obviously a man of taste even back then.”  I saw Illya’s eyes twinkle and Napoleon laughed. “And you couldn’t think of a better name than Ducky?”

“I was all of four at the time.”  He stopped and looked deep into my eyes and I swear he could hear my thoughts.  “It was love at first sight.  No matter what, he’s always been here for me, like a breadcrumb leading me home.”

“Then if it is important to you, it is important to me.”  Illya bowed to me.  “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr.… Ducky.”  The conversation dissolved into laughter and I was returned to my place of honor on the mantle.

“Lucky,” Little Bear whispered.

“Lucky Ducky, you mean,” I whispered back.

Napoleon and Illya were so happy together.  They visited often after that and Napoleon always stopped to pay his regards to me.  Those were the happiest moments of my existence.

The years passed and I watched Mamma and Papa age.  It is a sad fact that humans are here for a very short time.  One day Papa was gone.  Mamma would sit for hours on the couch and stare at nothing. Then she was gone as well.  Napoleon came home and he moved slowly about the room, instructing what should be done with this or that.  Illya was right by his side, offering his condolences with a touch and a soft word.  

Illya came over to the mantle and began to take things off, wrapping them in paper.  I knew in my heart of hearts that I would never see Dutch girl or Monique again.  He picked me up and then dropped me into his jacket pocket.  

The next time I saw light, it was in a strange room.  I immediately knew, however, that this was home.  Illya set me up on a bookcase shelf and then put Mantle Clock beside me.

“What had happened?” I asked when it was safe.

“Mamma died and Napoleon sold the house.  This is where we are to be now.  Here. With Napoleon and Illya.”  I nearly burst with happiness.  Napoleon came into the room, looking old and very tired.  He smiled a bit at Illya and I could tell he was fighting tears.  Then he saw me and Mantle Clock and he lost the battle.  This time it was Illya he held.  For some reason I was all right with that.

For many years I stood on that bookshelf, watching as the world moved by.  I was unchanged, yet I could see Napoleon as he aged.  Still, he had Illya and that made him happy.  They sat on their couch and hugged and kissed and did a lot of other things that would have made me blush, if I was able to.  I saw them in all their moods, yet in the end everything worked out for they had each other.  Their world was perfect and joyful… until one day.

The front door slammed opened.  If I’d been able to jump, I would have.  Being glass does have its advantages.

“I don’t understand!”  Napoleon was angry, but there was something else in his voice – desperation, perhaps?

“I have no other words to make you understand.  You know that what I am saying is correct.  I am a liability that UNCLE doesn’t not need right now.  I need to disappear, for its sake… and yours.”  To the contrary, Illya’s voice was even and calm, but I could hear the sadness.  “I don’t want to.”

“Then don’t!”

Illya caught him and held him.  “You know I must.”

“I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t.”  Illya touched Napoleon’s chest.  “I’ll always be right here.  I swear this to you.”

And then, just like Sweetheart, Mamma, Papa and Aunt Amy, Illya was gone. Although they had a funeral for Illya, an elaborate and sorrowful affair, I knew he wasn’t dead, but he might as well have been.  He was gone and the years began to weigh down on my beloved Napoleon.  I wished I had the able to comfort him as I once had, but I stood on that shelf, as cold and frozen as his heart.

                                                                                ****

You might think that is the end of the story, but it is not.  Mamma had told Napoleon that a good story always had to have a happy ending and so does this one.

It was a day like many others.  Mantle Clock was quiet.  He’d long since fallen victim to a broken spring when a cleaning woman wound him a bit too much.  Napoleon didn’t seem to notice.  He didn’t notice much now.   I missed Mantle Clock’s chatter as there was seldom anything else to talk with.  I would have even welcomed a chance to talk with Monique again or Dutch Maid.

There had been a change to Napoleon as of late.  His hair had gone from dark to a mixture to white.  He shuffled when he walked, as if the world was bearing down and crushing him.  He still worked a long day, but spent his evenings alone.   He looked at the TV, changing the channel again and again.  Then one night, there was a report about a murdered Marine and they interviewed the coroner.

Napoleon gasped and clutched at the chair arms.  I was afraid he was having a heart attack the way his father had.  I wondering what 911 would do if they received an emergency call from a glass duck.

Napoleon was on his feet and talking rapidly into the phone.  He was almost frantic in his moves.  I’d not seen him like this in a long time.  He grabbed his jacket and left, leaving lights and the TV on.  The housekeeper turned them off the next day.  She muttered beneath her breath that some people have more money than common sense.  I knew Napoleon had both, but I didn’t correct her.  She’d over wound Mantle Clock, after all.

One night, after many nights of quiet, the door opened and Napoleon walked in with a man.  It took me a full minute to recognize him.  Then I saw a familiar twinkle and a thatch of blond hair. He wore a suit with a bowtie around his neck as opposed to a black turtleneck and he had glasses.  He was heavier and looked a little older, but I realized that after all these years, Illya had come home.  

Napoleon was laughing, giddy and excited.  It was as if he couldn’t touch Illya enough.

“But how did you find me?” Illya asked.  There was still a strength in his voice.  “I thought they’d done an excellent job of hiding me.”

“They did.  No one else could have found you.  But I remembered.  It was something I’d heard you say.”  Napoleon walked over to me and picked me up, pointing me at Illya.  He grinned.

“What was that, might I ask?”

“You told the announcer to call you Ducky.  It was a breadcrumb.”

“Leading you home.”  The smile was warm and affectionate.  “And one only you could find.”  He looked over at me and winked.  “And it’s all thanks to that little guy right there.”  My heart swelled with happiness and pride.

They were always together after that.  They retired and moved to a small house on the coast.  It is a much quieter life, although Napoleon did get Mantle Clock repaired, so I now have him to talk with.  I have to admit that much of my time is spent watching my Napoleon, once again happy and content, whether he and Illya are cooking in the kitchen, discussing the day’s events or simply  sitting and watching the sun set, heads resting together, the fingers of their hands entwined.

And I am happy, for I know I now am home.

 


End file.
